


a big blurry thing like bigfoot

by decinq



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (much like her son jack) alicia zimmermann is a giant nerd, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4524459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack’s born on a Friday, and Montreal’s hot as fucking hell, so it’s no wonder her baby comes into the world screaming his lungs out, but damn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a big blurry thing like bigfoot

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest and most sincere thanks to bo, for being the mastermind behind the '[chicks, please](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4694924)' zine. also, thank you to émilie, sam, and alex for the read-throughs and friendship. endless love.
> 
> the alternative title to this was "the zimmermann family romantic comedy," although i don't know how well i achieve humour in my writing. so. the title of this story is from jarod kintz's "love quotes for the ages: specifically ages 18-81." the dude writes a lot about bigfoot and aliens and ghosts and the honesty of politics, but not about the loch ness monster, which would've been better but: **“i know a thing or two about love. well, maybe just a thing. a big, blurry thing, like bigfoot.”**
> 
> this is a work of fiction. any of the real people alluded to in this are merely for world building, and you'll only really catch them if you know how to squint at hockey names from the late 1980s. any and all of az's cohorts in this are fictionalized, although denzel was oscar nom'd in 88 for best supporting in 'cry freedom.' the more you know. 
> 
> brief cw for mention off an offscreen character death; it's only a reference and it's to an oc, but still. head's up.
> 
> finally, i'm not saying i'm in love with alicia zimmermann, but i'm not _not_ in love with alicia zimmermann, ya feel?

Alicia’s _not_ obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster.

 

Janet laughs at her when she says as much. Tom and Rich aren’t even paying attention. She’s just saying, she’s like, an amazing friend considering her original plans were to sit on her Paramount-paid hotel bed and watch a documentary about cryptids instead of freezing her ass off at a fucking hockey game.

 

Janet’s Canadian, and so is Tom, and Rich is just, like, a cool dude who is constantly down to eat way more wings and drink way more beer than his action hero abs would suggest.  Anyway, Janet is from Toronto, but her parents are from Montreal, and Tom is actually super Quebec-y despite his lack of an accent, and so going to the game makes enough sense. Alicia’s just not sure why _she_ has to be there.

 

“Did you just say you’re obsessed with Nessy?” Rich says, sipping his plastic cup of beer. He bought a baseball cap with the Capitals logo on it, which she doesn’t really understand. A baseball hat? For a hockey team? Whatever. Rich doesn’t seem like he’s laughing at her, but Alicia’s honestly not that good at getting a read on dudes from set, so.

 

“I’m not _obsessed_ ,” she repeats, and she can see Janet rolling her eyes, but. Screw her, whatever.

 

“My family’s from Scotland,” he says, leaning forward and looking at her over Tom and Janet, who’re having their own conversation about something probably related to the players coming out on the ice to skate in circles.

 

“Cool,” she says. “My grandparents came over from France during the War.” Rich nods, and she says, “Not quite the Isles, but not too far. Have you ever been?”

 

“To France?” He says. “Nah, I’ve been to Glasgow once, but I was pretty young. Nessy, though, huh?” He smirks at her, and she rolls her eyes and doesn’t blush. She has a rule against getting too snug with other actor-model-types. But he’s nice, and she doesn’t want to watch a bunch of dudes in sweaters skate circles for ten minutes before they start skating circles and punching each other for sixty minutes, so she takes a sip of her own beer and smiles.

 

“Had a deal with my parents, if I couldn’t make my way in two years time, I’d go to school. You know. Immigrant dream. Better life. Always thought, y’know, weird science, maybe. I’m not into, like, needles or anything, but I was 18 and remember thinking that someone’s gotta prove that el Chubacabra’s real. Might as well be me.”

 

Rich laughs, but it’s not at her, and she relaxes.  
  


“What’re those called?” He says, leaning back in his seat a bit when Tom and Janet settle in between them. “Like, Sasquatch and Nessy and stuff? When they’re not for sure real? Like aliens.”

 

“Aliens are totally for sure real,” Tom quips, his arm moving to rest along the back of Janet’s chair.

 

“Uh,” Alicia says. “I mean, aliens aren’t in the same...boat? Sasquatch and el Chubacabra and the Loch Ness are called cryptids. And like. Unicorns. Aliens are just aliens.”

 

“Beauty and brains,” Janet says, knocking her knee into Alicia’s. “Oh, what a lady.”

 

“Leave me alone,” Alicia says, over a smile. “Game’s about to start.”  
  


*

They end up on the jumbotron, because there are approximately four celebrities in Washington (not including the Reagan family, who suck) and their party makes up all four. Alicia likes her life, she’s got more money in the bank than she could have ever imagined, and if making cheesy romcoms is what gets her her cute small apartment in New York City, she’ll take it. She likes New York because everyone thinks they’re special, so people mostly leave her alone. She’s never gonna win an Oscar or anything, she got into film by modeling, she knows what that means, but still. She’s been in a lot in the last year and a bit, and it startles her still, sometimes, that people care about what she’s doing.

 

And so apparently being a non-political public figure in D.C. is enough to get a handful of B list actors onto the big screen at a hockey game.

 

A few of the players on the ice spin and a few guys in the Canadiens jerseys find them, and wave. Tom waves back like a big loser, and then a few kids lean forward and ask for their autographs. Otherwise, people in their section leave them alone. Possibly that’s a benefit of sitting pretty close to the ice, but Alicia will have to ask. Obviously those seats cost more but she’s not sure how much more, how much that’d change the behaviour of the other spectators.

 

When a guy with the number one on his back scores a goal against Washington, the crowd gets pretty quiet. A guy sitting a few seats down stands up and yells, and spills his beer on her jeans.

 

When he doesn’t apologize or even really seem to notice, Alicia huffs. “Ugh,” she says, turning to Janet. “Why’d you bring me here? They’re heathens,” she says. The guy who scores skates by them and points to them, and she thinks maybe she catches his eye, but he nods pretty quickly in their direction before skating back towards the Montreal bench.

 

Janet smirks, and Alicia feels herself blush. “That’s why.”

 

Montreal wins 2-1, and the crowd files out pretty quickly after the final seconds count down.

 

“We wanna go get drinks or?” Tom asks, still sitting.

 

“I’d be down,” Janet says.

 

“I’ve got to be back on set pretty early,” Alicia says. “It’s already pretty late for me.”

 

“Me too,” Rich says, and Tom rolls his eyes a bit.

 

Janet nods. “You’re right,” she says. “We’ve got a busy run in the next week.”

 

Alicia’s stacking their plastic beer cups when someone wearing a vest comes over to them. “Hi, um.” The kid can’t be older than twenty, but he’s wearing a walkie-talkie and has a pen behind his ear, so Alicia’s guess could be wrong. “Sorry to bother you. Uhm. Mister Perron wanted me to extend an invitation to you all to come meet the team, if you want. The guys all noticed your jerseys,” he says, nodding Janet and Tom. “They’re um. Excited. I think.”

 

Janet’s eyes are wide, and Tom is nodding enthusiastically. Rich looks over at Alicia, and Alicia resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, because no one else has said any real words. “We have a few minutes.”

  
*

They’re standing in a hallway down in the boonies of the stadium, and Alicia thinks it’d be kinda creepy if it weren’t for the fact that like, 30 twenty-five year old men were all yelling over each other some hundred yards away. They’re all still getting changed; Michael, the young kid who came to get them, said they’d be allowed into the visitor’s locker room if they wanted, but Alicia had shaken her head, and Michael had said, “okay, wait here,” and then promptly walked away.

 

A head of blond hair pops out from around the threshold of the door, and his eyes go wide before he disappears, but Alicia hears him say, “Holy shit, Janet Daley and Alicia Beaulieu are here.”

 

“What’re we, chopped liver?” Tom says, and Rich laughs.

 

“Uh, yeah dude, pretty much.”

  


She signs a few things, and someone from the Montreal management brings by a photographer, but they somehow, miraculously, avoid any real press. She’s not sure what the coverage is like for hockey players, especially in Washington. Probably all the journalists in the area are trying to figure out what steaming pile of bullshit the Reagan administration will come up with next.

 

One guy comes out as the team starts filing down the hall to the exit signs, and smiles at her. “Hey,” he says, nodding at her and the smiling down at the ground.

 

“Hi,” she says, surprising herself. “Good game,” she says, surprising herself even more.

 

He looks up at her and blushes. When he says, “thank you very much,” it’s slightly accented.

 

“I’m a big fan,” he says. “Loved the one about the phone operator. You’re funny.”

 

“I--” she says. “Thank you. I’m--Sorry, I have no idea who you are. I’m Alicia.” She sticks out her hand, and he adjusts his bag on his shoulder to shake her hand. His grip is pretty firm, but his skin is soft, and it catches her off guard.

 

“I’m Robert,” he says. “Zimmermann. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Bobby,” one of his team mates shouts from down the hall. “Let’s go.”

 

“It was nice to meet you, Robert,” Alicia says, dropping his hand once she realizes she’s still holding it. “I’ll--good luck.”

 

“Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

  
*

“What was that with Bad Bob?” Janet asks when they pile into the back of Rich’s rental car.

 

“Who’s Bad Bob?” Alicia asks, buckling herself in.

 

“The guy you were talking to,” Tom says from the passenger seat. “Big guy with the dark hair.”

 

“Oh,” Alicia says. “He introduced himself as Robert.”

 

“Dang,” Tom says. “That’s smooth.”

 

“What?” Alicia says. “No, I. What?”

 

“He’s a badass, hence the name. Bad Bob.”

 

“He seemed nice. Is he from Quebec? He sounded French.”

 

“Born and raised,” Tom says, and then the conversation devolves into recapping the game, which Alicia didn’t really pay attention to, and doesn’t really get the point of, so she just sits back and looks out the window, watches Washington flash by.

  
*

Janet wins an Emmy and marries Tom and it all happens in under six months. Alicia goes to the wedding and feels bad about herself for all of two hours before she decides, fuck it, Canada’s not so bad, even if Tom’s weird French-Canadian Family will _only_ refer to him as _Tomas_. Whatever.

 

She drinks more than enough white wine and Janet looks beautiful and happy, and Alicia gets over herself and decides to feel happy for Janet.

 

“Janny,” she says as they’re dancing under the canopy that’s covering the dancefloor. “I can’t believe you’re married. Holy shit.”

 

“I know,” Janet says, breathless. “I. God. I’m so happy.”

 

“That’s good,” Alicia says, and spins them both in a circle.

  
*

She feels like shit when she rolls out of bed, and she thinks about getting room service for all of ten seconds before she remembers, right, Janet insisted on paying for her hotel room, and the staff are all in on it, like traitors. She doesn’t want the food to get charged to the room, and she might be hungover, but she has values, alright, and polishing off two bottles of wine doesn’t negate her hating when other people pay for her shit. Also, she’s pretty sure all the menus are in French, so like. Fuck that noise.

 

She roots through her suitcase until she finds her denim shorts and her NYU sweatshirt. Her stuff is all over the floor but she finds her sandals easy enough. She struggles to get them on properly, but she’s in the elevator down to the lobby before she knows it, her hangover making everything feel sharp and soft at the same time. She walks a few blocks until she finds a small bakery, and muddles her way through ordering a ham and cheese croissant and a shitty coffee. She puts milk in it, and has the croissant half shoved in her mouth on her way out the door when someone on the sidewalk says, “Um, hi.”

 

It takes her probably too long to realize that the voice is talking to her, and she squints in the direction of the sun. She takes the croissant away from her mouth and lifts her hand that’s holding her coffee over her eyes to squint at whoever’s talking to her.

 

She swallows the bite of food in her mouth. “Hello,” she says, with as much media pep as she can manage at whatever-fuck-this-hangover o’clock.

 

“I--are you okay?” The guys says, and he looks familiar.

 

“Uh,” she says. “Yeah. Hey. Robert, right?”

 

“Alicia,” he says, and he smiles, and she takes another bite of her croissant because this interaction is already weird enough, and she really wants to shower.

 

“Do you know that you’ve got makeup all over your face?”

 

“I--fuck,” she says, her mouth full.

 

“There are not really many paps around here, but like. Do you normally not look in the mirror before you go out?”

 

She washes her mouthful of food down with a sip of coffee, then says, “Honestly I’m just really hungover.”

 

His eyes go wide, and then he smiles. “Can I walk you to wherever you’re going?”

 

“I’m at the Hilton that’s,” she says, pointing with her coffee-hand. “Right there.”

 

“I, oh.”

 

They stand across from each other awkwardly for a few seconds, and Alicia takes just a moment to look him over. Out of his hockey gear, he looks good. He’s a bit sweaty, she thinks, but he’s wearing sneakers and clothes that look like they’re for exercising. He’s god nice bone structure, and he’s tall, and like. Pretty hot, actually.

 

“But I’m on vacation here for a few more days,” she says. “My friend got married and then fucked off to like, Bora Bora or something. So.”

 

“Have you been to Montreal before?” He asks, sounding a bit more casual.

 

She shakes her head. “First time.”

 

“I can, um. Show you around if you want. There’s some pretty okay comedy shows, or some museums. The mountain’s nice. Old Montreal. Anything, really,” he says, his mouth snapping shut. He’s awkward.

 

Alicia likes him already.

 

“I gotta shower,” she says. “But I’m on vacation. I like to eat,” she says. “Anything else, you can just pick your favourites.”

 

“I--okay,” he says. “Does four work?”

 

“What time is it now?” She asks, taking a sip of her coffee.

 

He laughs, and looks at his watch. “Uh, half past noon.”

 

“Four works,” she says, and he nods.

 

“Okay, good. I’ll meet you here?”

 

“Thank you,” she says, and he flushes a bit.

 

“Of course,” he says, and waves before jogging backwards slowly, and smiling once more before turning around to pick up his run properly.

  
*

They get ice cream and walk around Old Montreal. He takes her to a bunch of shops and lots of people want to shake his hand and pat his back, but he’s at ease with it. He gets them a table at a packed little Italian place and he orders their food in French for them, and he talks about his siblings a bit, but mostly asks her about filming and Janet’s wedding and lets her talk about herself. Alicia’s not a narcissist but he asks her detailed and thoughtful questions, and she answers.

 

He doesn’t talk about hockey until she asks.

 

“I don’t know much about it,” she says honestly. “I kind of wish I did, because I liked watching that game way better than I liked watching football, but I grew up around that.”

 

“When the season starts, you could watch a game. We go to New York often enough.”

 

“Yeah,” she says. “Okay.”

  
*

They exchange contact information, and Robert ends up driving her to the airport by means of coincidence when he jogs by her again the morning she’s meant to leave. “Did you run by on purpose,” she says, but it’s not accusing, and he laughs.

 

“I wish I’d thought of that, honestly,” he says. “I run this way every day.”

  
*

She does a spread for Vogue, which is fun and inspiring and helps her remember why she liked modelling in the first place.

 

Robert gets into New York the morning before his team is meant to play the Rangers, and Alicia meets him at the stadium after his practice. He’s freshly showered and some of his teammates smirk and hassle him in French that she doesn’t understand, and he blushes and throws barbs back at them before steering her towards the exit signs.

 

“Do you have a car?” He asks.

 

“This is New York,” she says, and he just looks at her. “No,” she says. “I uh. I can’t drive, actually.”

 

“You can’t drive?” He asks, his eyebrows up by his hairline.

 

“My parents shared a car when I was growing up,” she says. “And I moved here when I was 18.” She shrugs.

 

“I could teach you,” he says.

 

“Not in the city,” she says, oddly nervous.

 

“No,” he says, and smiles. “Lunch first. Driving some other time. I’ll find a good place.”

  


They get lunch at a sandwich place that makes Alicia feel like she’s in a Woody Allen movie, and Robert knocks their ankles together and she presses back. He helps her into her coat on their way out, and he says, “I have to head back to the hotel to nap. I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s okay,” she says. “Are you back by the stadium? We can share a taxi.”

 

“I,” he says. “Alright.” She moves to reach out to hail down a car and he grabs her hand, laces their fingers together. He raises his other hand and a yellow cab pulls over. He opens the door for her, and holds her hand the whole way to his hotel.

  
*

Robert had called her as she was getting ready to leave to give her instructions for picking up her tickets. Her neighbour Amy is coming with her, because Alicia hadn’t known who to ask, and Amy’s brother is a big Rangers fan, and Amy is kind of petty and loves to one-up him. Alicia likes Amy, and Alicia likes enthusiastic company. She doesn’t know a lot about the game, even if her knowledge has improved in the last little bit, but Amy will help her save face.

 

What she doesn’t know is that he also left a jersey for her, but she slips it on over her shirt, folds her coat over her arm. Amy laughs, but Alicia just knocks their shoulders together and says, “Whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

 

She asks a stadium employee to point them to their seats, and maybe it _is_ a big deal, because they’re right by the glass, first row.

 

“Damn, Al,” Amy says. “Nice seats. David’s gonna be so jealous.”

  
*

Robert scores, and he skates by their seats. He smiles wide and waves, and Alicia waves back.

  
*

The Rangers win, and some news guy manages to weasel his way over to where she and Amy are waiting. He asks how long Alicia’s been a Habs fan for, with a tone like an asshole, and she says, “I mean, my family’s French.”

 

“Beaulieu,” he says, like she doesn’t know her own name. “Of course.”

 

“Yep,” she says, and her agent will probably be mad, because that’s colder than she really ought to be, but. But.

 

She feels out of her depth, a bit. Her and Robert have basically nothing in common, and like this guy with a microphone who fancies himself a journalist seems to be implying, they might as well be from different planets.

 

But then Robert is shouldering his way into the hallway, and his face splits into a grin, and Alicia can feel butterflies in her stomach. She smiles, and then jumps into his arms, because, fuck it, she’s only going to be young once, and she likes him, and she doesn’t give a shit if she looks like a fake hockey fan.

 

Robert laughs, and someone whistles and says, “Bobby!”

 

“Hey,” she says, pressing her nose into his face.

 

“Hi,” he says, smiling against her cheek.

 

“Good game,” she says.

 

“I scored for you,” he says, and he squeezes her middle.

 

“I know,” she says, and laughs. She unwinds her legs from around him and says, “This is my neighbour Amy.”

 

He lets her down and he shakes Amy’s hand, and they make idle chatter about the game while Alicia zones out while admiring Robert’s jaw and thinking about kissing him. How have they been talking on the phone and eating lunch and holding hands in cabs but she’s never thought to just. Kiss him. She likes him more than she thought, she realizes. Which is something, actually, considering she’s been telling Janet all about it between giggles and too-graphic descriptors.

 

“When do you leave?” She interrupts, and Amy laughs at her, but she’s smiling.

 

“Not until tomorrow, mid morning,” he says.

 

“Hang out with me,” she says, and he nods, like of course, obviously.

 

She smiles, and he smiles, and Alicia pretends like she can’t see Amy smirking.

  
  


Robert introduces Amy to some of the Rangers, and one of the blond ones smiles at her and she touches his arm and then Amy comes over to say that she’s getting beers with him and a few of the others. “To make Davey jealous,” she says, as if it’s not a total lie. But Alicia smiles, because it’s no problem. Opposite of one, really.

  
*

She and Robert split a cab back to Alicia’s, and she scoots into Robert’s side. He’s so broad, and she fits well up against his ribs, under his arm. She takes his hand absently, is tracing the lines of his palm and tugging softly on his fingers until the joints pop, and he chuckles softly. He presses his nose into her hair and says, “that’s disgusting. Do you crack all your joints.”

 

“It’s just oxygen caught in the socket,” she says, but she stops, twines their fingers together.

 

“Where’d you learn that?”

 

“I don’t know,” she says, squeezing his hand softly. He squeezes back, and then leans forward when the cab driver pulls over outside her building. He pays, and says thank you, and then holds the door open for her as she steps up onto the sidewalk.

 

Her doorman opens the door before they get up to it, and he says, “Evening, Alicia.”

 

“Hey. Will, this is Robert.”

 

“Call me Bob,” Robert says, and Will nods.

 

“Just Will’s good for me,” he says, smiling.

 

“Night,” Alicia says. When she presses the elevator button she says, “You never said.”

 

“Said what?” Robert asks. The doors ding, and he waits for her to move into the elevator before stepping forward himself.

 

“That you prefer Bob. You--”

 

“I like it,” he says, and he reaches for her hand, and she looks at him again. “No one else has called me Robert since I was, I don’t know, five. And even then it was only when I was bad.”

 

“Bad Robert just doesn’t have the same ring to it,” she says, and he bumps his hip into hers.

 

“No,” he says. “I guess not.”

  
*

While she uncorks a bottle of Shiraz, he pokes around her apartment. He takes in the photos she has magneted to the fridge, scans her book shelf. She hands him a glass and he thanks her, and she stands beside him as he looks over the photos of her family, of her as a kid in her ballet garb.

 

“Your family’s French?”

 

“My grandparents immigrated from France in the thirties,” she says. “I can’t speak it, though. I wish I could. My mom’s family is a European mixed-cocktail, basically.”

 

“My mom’s family is Italian,” he says. “Dad’s parents were German and French.”

 

“Must’ve been an excitable dinner table,” she says, and he chuckles softly.

 

“Could get loud, yes.”

  
*

At some time after 1 a.m., Robert leans forward to slide his empty wine glass into the coffee table and says, “I should go.”

 

“You could stay,” Alicia says, and Robert blushes, smiles.

 

“I can’t, I’ll already be in trouble for being back to the hotel so late.”

 

“I. Oh. Okay.”

 

“I--” Robert starts. “Not that I-- uh, I mean, I’m not...I’d like to--Um. Shit.”

 

Alicia laughs, says, “You loser,” before depositing her own empty glass beside his. She stands. “Let me walk you down, at least.”

 

“How about just to the elevator,” he says, and she wraps her hands around his upper arms and turns his towards the door. She helps him into his coat, and unlocks the chain over the door before ushering him out with her arm. He’s smiling at her. He’s got soft eyes, a strong jaw, crooked teeth and a single dimple on the left side.

 

She leaves her apartment door half open, walks down the hall of the apartment in just her socked-feet. They don’t say anything on the walk to the elevator, and when he presses the button to call it, he turns to face her and says, “I had a really nice time. Thank you.”

 

“Me too,” she says, and she meets his eye and smiles, and he ducks down to gently press his lips to hers. It’s chaste, but her eyes fall shut anyway. His lips are a bit chapped, just like they look, and he’s pulling back faster than she’d like. He tucks her hair behind her ear, and she opens her eyes.

 

The elevator chimes, and Robert’s hand falls to his side. “Goodnight,” he says.

 

“Night,” she says. They smile at each other until the door shuts, and Alicia goes to bed alone.

  
*

Amy gets a pet cat, that apparently the Ranger she now calls Jamie gives her for her birthday, and she basically becomes Alicia’s best friend. Anything to spend some quality R and R with a super cute kitty. Alicia’s simple. She has a hard time telling if people are genuine, sometimes, but Amy is (and Alicia applies a heavy dose of mental finger quotes) ‘politically opposed to the nature of major picture production within the mass media market, but like, you go girl,’ so Alicia knows that Amy really and truly doesn’t give a shit about her public status. Amy’s parents have money and Amy went to school and is trying to write a novel ‘for herself.’ And if she has a damn cute cat and wants to drink wine with Alicia while sitting on the floor of her apartment, then, well, Alicia’s not going to say no.

  
*

Canada’s hockey team comes in fourth in the Olympics, and Robert calls from Calgary after they lose. “Could be worse,” he says. “I could be wallowing alone.”

 

“You are wallowing alone,” Alicia says. “You’re literally in a hotel room all by yourself and wallowing.”

 

“Nah,” Robert says. “I’ve got you.”

  
*  
  
  
“I’m just saying,” Pat says. “It’d be a fun role. It’s a good project.”

 

“It’s in California,” Alicia says, and Pat sighs.

 

“Most of everything is in California these days,” he says. “They’re talking to Washington about it.”

 

“Denzel?” She asks, despite the fact that she doesn’t really want to go to Hollywood, like, at all. But he was nominated for an Oscar. That’s a big deal. It could be a big deal. She says, “I’ll read for it, fine.”

 

“Knew I could twist your rubber arm,” Pat says. “This could be really good.”

 

“Yeah,” Alicia says.  
  
  
*

  
“I could visit you,” Robert says into the phone. “We play the Kings in a few weeks, I think. We’re there for a few days.”

 

“Really? You don’t have to.”

 

“I’d like to. If you’ll have me,” he says, kind of softly.

 

“I could get you onto set,” she says, and she can imagine his eyes bugging out of his head on the other side of the phone.

 

“Wait, actually?”

 

“Well, I mean. Yeah. You’ve gotten me into the secret areas of your work, too.”

 

“Fucking--” Robert says. “That’s wicked. Cool. Okay.”

 

“Okay,” she parrots.

 

“I’ll confirm the dates, let you know. But I should go.”

 

“Of course,” she says. “Me too, actually.”

 

“See you soon.”

 

“See you soon.”

  
*

She’s propped up in a chair on Janet and Tom’s pool deck, and when Janet says, “So…” Alicia knows she’s in for it.

 

“So…” She echos, a bit snarkier than Janet deserves, probably, but Alicia has a hangover and Janet just spent half an hour talking about Tom’s toenails. And like, Alicia loves her, but like, ew. She doesn’t care.

 

“How’s Bob?” Janet asks.

 

“Fine,” Alicia says. “Or well. I don’t know, he seems fine. We talk a lot, but he seems to be...taking it kinda slow. I don’t know.”

 

“Have you--”

 

“No,” Alicia says, too fast. “We’re not really in the same city that often, so.”

 

“Damn,” Janet says. “He’s really. He’s hot, Leesh. He could get, with, like, anyone.”

 

“I know,” Alicia says.

 

“Not that you’re not, like, still way out of his league, because you are, but--”

 

“Yeah, I know.” She says. “He’s sweet, though. I don’t know, he holds my hand when we go out for dinner, and he knows my doorman’s name. He doesn’t seem--He’s quiet, I guess.”

 

“He’s not scared of stuff, you know. I know you’ve seen him play, but the dude’s fearless, goes into fights like he was born throwing punches. You don’t get a name like Bad Bob by being sweet. Tom and I went to game last season and he got thrown out for trying to hit the linesman.”

 

Alicia doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know what to say. She likes him, she doesn’t really care what he plays like. And, she thinks, she trusts him.

 

The last time they’d gone out, they’d both had maybe a glass of wine or two too many with dinner, and he’d been loose lipped and emotive. “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” she’d asked, and he’d said, “my sister died when I was seventeen. I almost stopped playing.”

 

“Shit,” she’d said, and he’d taken her hand and told her about how his dad could turn nasty, how his sister, three years older and the best friend he’s ever had, had followed him into the bottle, had crashed her car off the side of the bridge. “I’m still not sure if it was an accident,” he’d said, and Alicia had kissed him until she couldn’t breathe, because she hadn’t known what else to do, and he’d said, “I think she’d’ve liked you,” before he kissed her again.

 

“He’s different than you’d think,” is all she says, and Janet hums. “I really like him,” Alicia adds, because it’s true, and Janet would know anyway.

  
*

Alicia spends five weeks shooting in California, and then she gets a short spot on Letterman. The film gets pretty good reviews, people are surprised that she had the chops to do it. Her mom and dad fly out to stay with her for a few weeks.

 

Montreal gets eliminated by Boston.  Edmonton wins the Stanley Cup.

 

 

And then Robert gets traded to Pittsburgh.  


She hears about it before he calls her, and she’s not sure whether they’re in the territory where she can really get away with calling him without seeming like a creep, but she’s known him for almost a year if you count it from the first time they met, which Alicia does. And so she excuses herself from where she’s sitting in the living room with her parents and calls.

 

He answers, which surprises her, although she couldn’t say why.

 

“Hey, Leesh,” he says, and he sounds tired.

 

“How’d you know it was me?”

 

“Was hoping,” he says, and she smiles.

 

“I saw, the, uh. The news.”

 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

They’re both quiet on the line for a few beats too long, and then she says, “I’ve been thinking about buying a house.”

 

“You..have?” He asks, and it sounds tentative, like he’s not sure what she means.

 

“The city makes me tired, sometimes. Growing up in Ohio and then living here has made me nostalgic for Lake Erie.”

 

“Pittsburgh’s only a few hours from the lake. Bet I could get us there in under two without causing any traffic disasters.”

 

“You think?” Alicia asks, and she’s smiling. She bites her lip to try to get it together, but it barely works.

 

“Definitely,” Robert says.

 

“When do you have to go?”

 

“Have to be ready and settled by mid August,” he says.

 

“Well that’s plenty of time, then. My parents are here until the end of the week. You should come meet them. They’re gonna want to see why the hell their daughter’s decided to move to Pennsylvania.”

 

Robert laughs, and says, “Yeah, okay, yeah. I’ll grab a flight tonight.”  
  
*

They’re grocery shopping and Robert says, “I’ll make that casserole, it’s the only thing I’m good at. Please, babe.”

 

Alicia knocks her shoulder into his arm, and he reaches for her hand. “That casserole is fucking disgusting,” she says, and he gasps.

 

“So I’m good at exactly zero things,” he says, mock hurt.

 

“Yeah, you’re terrible,” she says, steering him towards the produce. “Can’t believe I love you, you’re so mediocre, what am I even doing here?”

 

Robert’s fingers go slack between hers and then he tugs on her hand, and she stops. “You love me?” His eyes are wide, and she hadn’t meant to say it, but she still means it, fiercly.

 

She smiles and resists rolling her eyes. “I mean, yeah.”

 

He sets down their grocery basket and wraps his hands around her, lifts her into the air. “I’m teaching you French, mon amour,” he says, and presses his mouth to her cheek. “I love you too.”

  
*

She comes down with a stomach bug that sticks around for nearly a week, but she has to finish buying Robert’s Christmas gifts before he gets back from their road trip out West, so she braves it. Janet and Tom are coming to stay with her over New Years, and then Robert’s mom is coming down from Montreal when he finally gets a break in the second week of January. She has too much shit to do, she doesn’t have time to be puking.

 

She feels pretty much better by Christmas Eve, and Robert doesn’t get home until late, climbs into bed some time after midnight. The next morning, he wakes her up at some time after nine, presses a mug of coffee into her arm.

 

“My mom’s Jewish,” he says. “We did Christmas as a kid, but we weren’t allowed to wake her up until after nine. That was the one rule.”

 

“Sounds like a good rule,” she mumbles into his side. She nuzzles her nose into his t-shirt, and he runs his hand down her arm, back up again.

 

“I--Hey, don’t go back to sleep, c’mon. I made coffee.” She huffs, but sits up, leans against him. She takes a sip, but it tastes more acidic than she’s used to. “Hey, Leesh?”

 

She swallows her mouthful of coffee, and says, “Hey, Robby?”

 

“You wanna marry me?”

 

She spills coffee on the comforter, and says, “You couldn’t wait til I’d put this down to ask,” before straddling his lap and kissing him. “Yes,” she says against his mouth, and he smiles. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

 

When they actually get out of bed, and once she’s bundled in a pair of leggings and one of his Pittsburgh sweatshirts, he hands her a little box that he’d left on the mantle.

 

When she slips the ring onto her finger, she smiles, and Robert smiles back, but then she frowns, and vomits.

  
*

“So,” she says as she pours two cups of coffee for Janet and Tom.

 

“So,” Janet mimics.

 

“I’m pregnant,” Alicia says, and Janet yelps.

 

“That’s good?” Janet says, oddly subdued, and Alicia nods.

 

“Yes, it’s good.”

 

“Oh thank Christ,” Janet says, then hugs her. “I cannot fucking believe--”

 

“I know,” Alicia says, and her eyes well up. “Rob’s mom gets here tomorrow, I’ve never fucking met her and I know we don’t have to tell her yet, probably shouldn’t, but. Fuck, I’m so happy.

*

 

Jack’s born on a Friday, and Montreal’s hot as fucking hell, so it’s no wonder her baby comes into the world screaming his lungs out, but damn. They compromise on the English spelling of Jack for a French middle name, tack a T onto the end of Lauren for Robert’s sister.

 

Jack’s eyes are big and blue, and if she’s honest, he looks kind of dopey, but he’s also got rosey cheeks and the softest skin she’s ever felt, and Robert cries, well, kind of like a baby. Maybe more than the baby, actually, and really she thinks she should be the one crying, because honestly, no bullshit breathing exercise is practice for that, but Jack’s fingers are small and he’s breathing and healthy.

 

It takes all of seven days for Alicia to realize that things are going to happen to Jack that she won’t be able to prevent. He’s going to get his little heart broken, he’s going to have dreams, he’s going to learn multiplication tables, he’s going to fall and cut his knees and palms and she won’t be able to help him other than to kiss it better, other than to love him.

 

Who the fuck gave her a baby? She loves him so much she could, like, maybe eat him, if only he were like Mary Antoinette’s cake and she could keep him, too. Robert kisses Jack’s cheeks and then leans over to kiss her nose.

 

“I wish I could make sure he’d never be sad,” she says.

 

He kisses her properly, then. When he pulls back, he says, “All we can do is try.”

 

 


End file.
